Alice of Old Vincennes by Maurice Thompson

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Alice Of Old Vincennes (1900) by Thompson, Maurice published by Kessinger Publishing, LLC (2010) [Hardcover]

Maurice Thompson, Collection novels

actually make the Simon pure remark when hard pressed. At allevents Father Beret said something with vigorous emphasis, and metHamilton half way.

Both men, stimulated to the finger-tips by a draught of imperiouspassion, fairly plunged to the inevitable conflict. Ah, if Alicecould have seen her beautiful weapons cross, if she could haveheard the fine, far-reaching clink, clink, clink, while sparksleaped forth, dazzling even in the moonlight; if she could havenoted the admirable, nay, the amazing, play, as the men, regainingcoolness to some extent, gathered their forces and fell cautiouslyto the deadly work, it would have been enough to change the coldshimmer of her face to a flash of warm delight. For she would haveunderstood every feint, longe, parry, and seen at a glance howFather Beret set the pace and led the race at the beginning. Shewould have understood; for Father Beret had taught her all sheknew about the art of fencing.

Hamilton quickly felt, and with a sense of its strangeness, thepriest's masterly command of his weapon. The surprise called upall his caution and cleverness. Before he could adjust himself tosuch an unexpected condition he came near being spitted outrightby a pretty pass under his guard. The narrow escape, while it puthim on his best mettle, sent a wave of superstition through hisbrain. He recalled what Barlow had jocularly said about the doingsof the devil-priest or priest-devil at Roussillon place on thatnight when the patrol guard attempted to take Gaspard Roussillon.Was this, indeed, Father Beret, that gentle old man, now beforehim, or was it an avenging demon from the shades?

The thought flitted electrically across his mind, while he deftlyparried, feinted, longed, giving his dark antagonist all he coulddo to meet the play. Priest or devil, he thought, he cared notwhich, he would reach its vitals presently. Yet there lingeredwith him a haunting half-fear, or tenuous awe, which may haveaided, rather than hindered his excellent swordsmanship.

Under foot it was slushy with mud, water and ice, the consistencyvarying from a somewhat solid crust to puddles that half inundatedHamilton's boots and quite overflowed Father Beret's moccasins. Anexecrable field for the little matter in hand. They graduallyshifted position. Now it was the Governor, then the priest, whohad advantage as to the light. For some time Father Beret seemedquite the shiftier and surer fighter, but (was it his age tellingon him?) he lost perceptibly in suppleness. Still Hamilton failedto touch him. There was a baffling something in the old man'sescape now and again from what ought to have been an inevitablestroke. Was it luck? It seemed to Hamilton more than that--a sortof uncanny evasion. Or was it supreme mastery, the last andsubtlest reach of the fencer's craft?

Youth forced age slowly backward in the struggle, which at timestook on spurts so furious that the slender blades, becoming mereglints of acicular steel, split the moonlight back and forth, upand down, so that their meetings, following one another in a well-nigh continuous stroke, sent a jarring noise through the air.Father Beret lost inch by inch, until the fighting was almost overthe body of Alice; and now for the first time Hamilton becameaware of that motionless something with the white, luminous facein profile against the ground; but he did not let even thatunsettle his fencing gaze, which followed the sunken and duskyeyes of his adversary. A perspiration suddenly flooded his body,however, and began to drip across his face. His arm was tiring. Adoubt crept like a chill into his heart. Then the priest appearedto add a cubit to his stature and waver strangely in the softlight. Behind him, low against the sky, a wide winged owl shotnoiselessly across just above the prairie.

The soul of a true priest is double: it is the soul of a saint andthe soul of a worldly man. What is most beautiful in this dualityis the supreme courage with which the saintly spirit attacks theworldly and so often heroically masters it. In the beginning ofthe fight Father Beret let a passion of the earthly body take himby storm. It was well for Governor Henry Hamilton that the priestwas so wrought upon as to unsettle his nerves, otherwise therewould have been an evil heart impaled midway of Father Beret'srapier. A little later the saintly spirit began to assert itself,feebly indeed, but surely. Then it was that Father Beret seemed tobe losing agility for a while as he backstepped away fromHamilton's increasing energy of assault. In his heart the priestwas saying: "I will not murder him. I must not do that. Hedeserves death, but vengeance is not mine. I will disarm him."Step by step he retreated, playing erratically to make an openingfor a trick he meant to use.

It was singularly loose play, a sort of wavering, shifty,incomprehensible show of carelessness, that caused Hamilton toentertain a doubt, which was really a fear, as to what was goingto happen; for, notwithstanding all this neglect of due precautionon the priest's part, to touch him seemed impossible, miraculouslyso, and every plan of attack dissolved into futility in the mostmaddening way.

He made a longe, when his adversary left an opening which appearedabsolutely beyond defence. It was a quick, dextrous, viciousthrust. The blade leaped toward Father Beret's heart with atwinkle like lightning.

At that moment, although warily alert and hopeful that hisopportunity was at hand, Father Beret came near losing his life;for as he side-stepped and easily parried Hamilton's thrust, whichhe had invited, thinking to entangle his blade and disarm him, hecaught his foot in Alice's skirt and stumbled, nearly fallingacross her. It would have been easy for Hamilton to run himthrough, had he instantly followed up the advantage. But themoonlight on Alice's face struck his eyes, and by that indirectray of vision which is often strangely effective, he recognizedher lying there. It was a disconcerting thing for him, but herallied instantly and sprang aside, taking a new position just intime to face Father Beret again. A chill crept up his back. Thehorror which he could not shake off enraged him beyond measure.Gathering fresh energy, he renewed the assault with desperatesteadiness the highest product of absolutely molten fury.

Father Beret felt the dangerous access of power in hisantagonist's arm, and knew that a crisis had arrived. He could notbe careless now. Here was a swordsman of the best school callingupon him for all the skill and strength and cunning that he couldcommand. Again the saintly element was near being thrown aside bythe worldly in the old man's breast. Alice lying there seemedmutely demanding that he avenge her. A riotous something in hisblood clamored for a quick and certain act in this drama bymoonlight--a tragic close by a stroke of terrible yet perfectlyfitting justice.

There was but the space of a breath for the conflict in thepriest's heart, yet during that little time he reasoned the caseand quoted scripture to himself.

"Domine, percutimus in gladio?" rang through his mind. "Lord,shall we smite with the sword?"

Hamilton seemed to make answer to this with a dazzling display ofskill. The rapiers sang a strange song above the sleeping girl, alullaby with coruscations of death in every keen note.

Father Beret was thinking of Alice. His brain, playing double,calculated with lightning swiftness the chances and movements ofthat whirlwind rush of fight, while at the same time it sweptthrough a retrospect of all the years since Alice came into hislife. How he had watched her grow and bloom; how he had taughther, trained her mind and soul and body to high things, loved herwith a fatherly passion unbounded, guarded her from the coarse andlawless influences of her surroundings. Like the tolling of aninfinitely melancholy bell, all this went through his breast andbrain, and, blending with a furious current of whatever passionswere deadly dangerous in his nature, swept as a storm bearing itsawful force into his sword-arm.

The Englishman was a lion, the priest a gladiator. The stars aloftin the vague, dark, yet splendid, amphitheater were the audience.It was a question. Would the thumbs go down or up? Life and deathheld the chances even; but it was at the will of Heaven, not ofthe stars. "Hoc habet" must follow the stroke ordered from beyondthe astral clusters and the dusky blue.

Hamilton pressed, nay rushed, the fight with a weight and at apace which could not last. But Father Beret withstood him sofirmly that he made no farther headway; he even lost some ground amoment later.

"You damned Jesuit hypocrite!" he snarled; "you lowest of a vilebrotherhood of liars!"

Then he rushed again, making a magnificent show of strength,quickness and accuracy. The sparks hissed and crackled from therasping and ringing blades.

Father Beret was, in truth, a Jesuit, and as such a zealot; but hewas not a liar or a hypocrite. Being human, he resented an insult.The saintly spirit in him was strong, yet not strong enough tobreast the indignation which now dashed against it. For a momentit went down.

"Liar and scoundrel yourself!" he retorted, hoarsely forcing thewords out of his throat. "Spawn of a beastly breed!"

Hamilton saw and felt a change pass over the spirit of the oldpriest's movements. Instantly the sword leaping against his ownseemed endowed with subtle cunning and malignant treachery. Beforethis it had been difficult enough to meet the fine play and holdfairly even; now he was startled and confused; but he rose to theemergency with admirable will power and cleverness.

"Murderer of a poor orphan girl!" Father Beret added with a hotconcentrated accent; "death is too good for you."

Hamilton felt nearer his grave than ever before in all his wildexperience, for somehow doom, shadowy and formless, like theatmosphere of an awful dream, enmisted those words; but he was noweakling to quit at the height of desperate conflict. He wasstrong, expert, and game to the middle of his heart.

"I'll add a traitor Jesuit to my list of dead," he panted forth,rising yet again to the extremest tension of his power.

As he did this Father Beret settled himself as you have seen amighty horse do in the home stretch of a race. Both men knew thatthe moment had arrived for the final act in their impromptu play.It was short, a duel condensed and crowded into fifteen seconds oftime, and it was rapid beyond the power of words to describe. Abystander, had there been one, could not have seen what wasfinally done or how it was done. Father Beret's sword seemed to berevolving--it was a halo in front of Hamilton for a mere point oftime. The old priest seemed to crouch and then make a quick motionas if about to leap backward. A wrench and a snip, as of somethingviolently jerked from a fastening, were followed by a semicircularflight of Hamilton's rapier over Father Beret's head to stick inthe ground ten feet behind him. The duel was over, and the wholeterrible struggle had occupied less than three minutes.

With his wrist strained and his fingers almost broken, Hamiltonstumbled forward and would have impaled himself had not FatherBeret turned the point of his weapon aside as he lowered it.

"Surrender, or die!"

That was a strange order for a priest to make, but there could beno mistaking its authority or the power behind it. Hamiltonregained his footing and looked dazed, wheezing and puffing like aporpoise, but he clearly understood what was demanded of him.

"If you call out I'll run you through," Father Beret added, seeinghim move his lips as if to shout for help.

The level rapier now reinforced the words. Hamilton let the breathgo noiselessly from his mouth and waved his hand in token ofenforced submission.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" he demanded after a shortpause. "You seem to have me at your mercy. What are your terms?"

Father Beret hesitated. It was a question difficult to answer.

"Give me your word as a British officer that you will never againtry to harm any person, not an open, armed enemy, in this town."

Hamilton's gorge rose perversely. He erected himself with loftyreserve and folded his arms. The dignity of a Lieutenant Governorleaped into him and took control. Father Beret correctlyinterpreted what he saw.

"My people have borne much," he said, "and the killing of thatpoor child there will be awfully avenged if I but say the word.Besides, I can turn every Indian in this wilderness against you ina single day. You are indeed at my mercy, and I will be mercifulif you will satisfy my demand."

He was trembling with emotion while he spoke and the desire tokill the man before him was making a frightful struggle with hispriestly conscience; but conscience had the upper hand. Hamiltonstood gazing fixedly, pale as a ghost, his thoughts becoming moreand more clear and logical. He was in a bad situation. Every wordthat Father Beret had spoken was true and went home with force.There was no time for parley or subterfuge; the sword looked asif, eager to find his heart, it could not be held back anothermoment. But the wan, cold face of the girl had more power than therapier's hungry point. It made an abject coward of him.

"I am willing to give you my word," he presently said. "And let metell you," he went on more rapidly, "I did not shoot at her. Shewas behind you,"

"Your word as a British officer?"

Hamilton again stiffened and hesitated, but only for the briefestspace, then said:

"Yes, my word as a British officer."

Father Beret waved his hand with impatience.

"Go, then, back to your place in the fort and disturb, my peopleno more. The soul of this poor little girl will haunt you forever.Go!"

Hamilton stood a little while gazing at the face of Alice with thehorrible wistfulness of remorse. What would he not have given torub his eyes and find it all a dream?

He turned away; a cloud scudded across the moon; here and yonderin the dim town cocks crowed with a lonesome, desultory effect.

Father Beret plucked up the rapier that he had wrenched fromHamilton's hand. It suggested something.

"Hold!" he called out, "give me the scabbard of this sword."Hamilton, who was striding vigorously in the direction of thefort, turned about as the priest hastened to him.

"Give me the scabbard of this rapier; I want it. Take it off."

The command was not gently voiced. A hoarse, half-whisper wingedevery word with an imperious threat.

Hamilton obeyed. His hands were not firm; his fingers fumblednervously; but he hurried, and Father Beret soon had the rapiersheathed and secured at his belt beside its mate.

A good and true priest is a burden-bearer. His motto is: Alteralterius onera portate; bear ye one another's burdens. His soul isenriched with the cast-off sorrows of those whom he relieves.Father Beret scarcely felt the weight of Alice's body when helifted it from the ground, so heavy was the pressure of his grief.All that her death meant, not only to him, but to every person whoknew her, came into his heart as the place of refuge consecratedfor the indwelling of pain. He lifted her and bore her as fartoward Roussillon place as he could; but his strength fell shortjust in front of the little Bourcier cottage, and half dead hestaggered across the veranda to the door, where he sank exhausted.

After a breathing spell he knocked. The household, fast asleep,did not hear; but he persisted until the door was opened to himand his burden.

Captain Farnsworth unclosed his bloodshot eyes, at about eighto'clock in the morning, quite confused as to his place andsurroundings. He looked about drowsily with a sheepish half-knowledge of having been very drunk. A purring in his head and adull ache reminded him of an abused stomach. He yawned andstretched himself, then sat up, running a hand through his tousledhair. Father Beret was on his knees before the cross, still as astatue, his clasped hands extended upward.

Farnsworth's face lighted with recognition, and he smiled ratherbitterly. He recalled everything and felt ashamed, humiliated,self-debased. He had outraged even a priest's hospitality with hisbrutish appetite, and he hated himself for it. Disgust nauseatedhis soul apace with the physical sinking and squirming that grewupon him.

The priest turned a collapsed and bloodless gray face upon him,smiled in a tired, perfunctory way, crossed himself absently andsaid:

"You have rested well, my son. Hard as the bed is, you have doneit a compliment in the way of sleeping. You young soldiersunderstand how to get the most out of things."

"You are too generous, Father, and I can't appreciate it. I knowwhat I deserve, and you know it, too. Tell me what a brute andfool I am; it will do me good. Punch me a solid jolt in the ribs,like the one you gave me not long ago."

"Qui sine peccato est, primus lapidem mittat" said the priest."Let him who is without sin cast the first stone."

He had gone to the hearth and was taking from the embers anearthen saucer, or shallow bowl, in which some fragrant brothsimmered and steamed.

"A man who has slept as long as you have, my son, usually has asomewhat delicate appetite. Now, here is a soup, not especiallysatisfying to the taste of a gourmet like yourself, but possessingthe soothing quality that is good for one just aroused from anunusual nap. I offer it, my son, propter stomachum tuum, etfrequentes tuas infirmitates (on account of thy stomach, and thineoften infirmities). This soup will go to the right spot."

While speaking he brought the hot bowl to Farnsworth and set it onthe bedcover before him, then fetched a big horn spoon.

The fragrance of pungent roots and herbs, blent with a savory waftof buffalo meat, greeted the Captain's sense, and the anticipationitself cheered his aching throat. It made him feel greedy and in ahurry. The first spoonful, a trifle bitter, was not so pleasant atthe beginning, but a moment after he swallowed it a hot pricklingset in and seemed to dart through him from extremity to extremity.

Slowly, as he ate, the taste grew more agreeable, and all theeffects of his debauch disappeared. It was like magic; his bloodwarmed and glowed, as if touched with mysterious fire.

"What is this in this soup, Father Beret, that makes it sosearching and refreshing?" he demanded, when the bowl was empty.

Father Beret shook his head and smiled drolly.

"That I cannot divulge, my son, owing to a promise I had to maketo the aged Indian who gave me the secret. It is the elixir of theMiamis. Only their consecrated medicine men hold the recipe. Thestimulation is but temporary."

Just then someone knocked on the door. Father Beret opened it toone of Hamilton's aides,

"Now I am sure to get what I deserve, with usury at forty per centin advance," said Farnsworth dryly, shrugging his shoulders withundissembled dread of Hamilton's wrath. But the anticipation wasnot realized. The Governor received Farnsworth stiffly enough, yetin a way that suggested a suppressed desire to avoid explanationson the Captain's part and a reprimand on his own. In fact,Hamilton was hoping that something would turn up to shield himfrom the effect of his terrible midnight adventure, which seemedthe darker the more he thought of it. He had a slow, numbconscience, lying deep where it was hard to reach, and when aqualm somehow entered it he endured in secret what most men wouldhave cast off or confessed. He was haunted, if not with remorse,at least by a dread of something most disagreeable in connectionwith what he had done. Alice's white face had impressed itselfindelibly on his memory, so that it met his inner vision at everyturn. He was afraid to converse with Farnsworth lest she shouldcome up for discussion; consequently their interview was curt andformal.

It was soon discovered that Alice had escaped from the stockade,and some show of search was made for her by Hamilton's order, butFarnsworth looked to it that the order was not carried out. Hethought he saw at once that his chief knew where she was. Themystery perplexed and pained the young man, and caused him to fearall sorts of evil; but there was a chance that Alice had found asafe retreat and he knew that nothing but ill could befall her ifshe were discovered and brought back to the fort. Therefore hissearch for her became his own secret and for his own heart's ease.And doubtless he would have found her; for even handicapped anddistorted love like his is lynx-eyed and sure on the track of itsobject; but a great event intervened and swept away hisopportunity.

Hamilton's uneasiness, which was that of a strong, misguidednature trying to justify itself amid a confusion of unmanageabledoubts and misgivings, now vented itself in a resumption of therepairs he had been making at certain points in the fort. These hecompleted just in time for the coming of Clark.

CHAPTER XIX

THE ATTACK

It has already been mentioned that Indians, arriving singly or insquads, to report at Hamilton's headquarters, were in the habit offiring their guns before entering the town or the fort, not onlyas a signal of their approach, but in order to rid their weaponsof their charges preliminary to cleaning them before setting outupon another scalp-hunting expedition. A shot, therefore, or evena volley, heard on the outskirts of the village, was not anoticeable incident in the daily and nightly experience of thegarrison. Still, for some reason, Governor Hamilton startedviolently when, just after nightfall, five or six rifles crackedsharply a short distance from the stockade.

He and Helm with two other officers were in the midst of a game ofcards, while a kettle, swinging on a crane in the ample fire-place, sang a shrill promise of hot apple-jack toddy.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Farnsworth, who, although not in the game,was amusing himself with looking on; "you jump like a fine lady! Ialmost fancied I heard a bullet hit you."

"You may all jump while you can," remarked Helm. "That's Clark,and your time's short--He'll have this fort tumbling on your headsbefore daylight of to-morrow morning comes."

As he spoke he arose from his seat at the card table and went tolook after the toddy, which, as an expert, he had undersupervision.

Hamilton frowned. The mention of Clark was disturbing. Ever sincethe strange disappearance of Lieutenant Barlow he had nursed thefear that possibly Clark's scouts had captured him and that theAmerican forces might be much nearer than Kaskaskia. Besides, hisnerves were unruly, as they had been ever since the encounter withFather Beret; and his vision persisted in turning back upon theaccusing cold face of Alice, lying in the moonlight. One littledetail of that scene almost maddened him at times; it was asheeny, crinkled wisp of warm looking hair looped across the cheekin which he had often seen a saucy dimple dance when Alice spokeor smiled. He was bad enough, but not wholly bad, and the thoughtof having darkened those merry eyes and stilled those sweetdimples tore through him with a cold, rasping pang.

"Just as soon as this toddy is properly mixed and tempered," saidHelm, with a magnetic jocosity beaming from his genial face, "I'mgoing to propose a toast to the banner of Alice Roussillon, whicha whole garrison of British braves has been unable to take!"

"If you do I'll blow a hole through you as big as the south doorof hell," said Hamilton, in a voice fairly shaken to a huskyquaver with rage. "You may do a great many insulting things; butnot that."

Helm was in a half stooping attitude with a ladle in one hand, acup in the other. He had met Hamilton's glowering look with apeculiarly innocent smile, as if to say: "What in the world is thematter now? I never felt in a better humor in all my life. Can'tyou take a joke, I wonder?" He did not speak, however, for arattling volley of musket and rifle shots hit the top of the clay-daubed chimney, sending down into the toddy a shower of soot anddirt.

In a wink every man was on his feet and staring.

"Gentlemen," said Helm, with an impressive oath, "that is Clark'ssoldiers, and they will take your fort; but they ought not to havespoiled this apple toddy!" "Oh, the devil!" said Hamilton,forcibly resuming a calm countenance, "it is only a squad ofdrunken Indians coming in. We'll forego excitement; there's nobattle on hand, gentlemen."

"I'm glad you think so, Governor Hamilton," Helm responded, "but Ishould imagine that I ought to know the crack of a Kentucky rifle.I've heard one occasionally in my life. Besides, I got a whiff offreedom just now."

"Captain Helm is right," observed Farnsworth. "That is an attack."

Another volley, this time nearer and more concentrated, convincedHamilton that he was, indeed, at the opening of a fight. Evenwhile he was giving some hurried orders to his officers, a man waswounded at one of the port-holes. Then came a series of yells,answered by a ripple of sympathetic French shouting that ranthroughout the town. The patrol guards came straggling in,breathless with excitement. They swore to having seen a thousandmen marching across the water-covered meadows.

Hamilton was brave. The approach of danger stirred him like atrumpet-strain. His fighting blood rose to full tide, and he gavehis orders with the steadiness and commanding force of a bornsoldier. The officers hastened to their respective positions. Onall sides sounds indicative of rapid preparations for the fightmingled into a confused strain of military energy. Men marched totheir places; cannon were wheeled into position, and soon enoughthe firing began in good earnest.

Late in the afternoon a rumor of Clark's approach had gone abroadthrough the village; but not a French lip breathed it to a friendof the British. The creoles were loyal to the cause of freedom;moreover, they cordially hated Hamilton, and their hearts beathigh at the prospect of a change in masters at the fort. Everycabin had its hidden gun and supply of ammunition, despite theorder to disarm issued by Hamilton. There was a hustling to bringthese forth, which was accompanied with a guarded yetirrepressible chattering, delightfully French and infinitelyvolatile.

"Tiens! je vais frotter mon fusil. J'ai vu un singe!" said JaquesBourcier to his daughter, the pretty Adrienne, who was coming outof the room in which Alice lay.

"I saw a monkey just now; I must rub up my gun!" He could not besolemn; not he. The thought of an opportunity to get even withHamilton was like wine in his blood.

If you had seen those hardy and sinewy Frenchmen gliding in thedusk of evening from cottage to cottage, passing the word that theAmericans had arrived, saying airy things and pinching one anotheras they met and hurried on, you would have thought something veryamusing and wholly jocund was in preparation for the people ofVincennes.

There was a current belief in the town that Gaspard Roussillonnever missed a good thing and always somehow got the lion's share.He went out with the ebb to return on the flood. Nobody wassurprised, therefore, when he suddenly appeared in the midst ofhis friends, armed to the teeth and emotionally warlike to suitthe occasion. Of course he took charge of everybody andeverything. You could have heard him whisper a bowshot away.

At his own house he knocked and called in vain. He shook the doorviolently; for he was thinking of the stores under the floor, ofthe grimy bottles, of the fragrant Bordeaux--ah, his throat, howit throbbed! But where was Madame Roussillon? Where was Alice?"Jean! Jean!" he cried, forgetting all precaution, "come here, youscamp, and let me in this minute!"

A profoundly impressive silence gave him to understand that hishome was deserted.

He kicked in the door and groped his way to the liquors. While hehastily swigged and smacked he heard the firing begin with acrackling, desultory volley. He laughed jovially, there in thedark, between draughts and deep sighs of enjoyment.

"Et moi aussi," he murmured, like the vast murmur of the sea, "Iwant to be in that dance! Pardonnez, messieurs. Moi, je veuxdanser, s'il vous plait."

And when he had filled himself he plunged out and rushed away,wrought up to the extreme fighting pitch of temper. Diable! if hecould but come across that Lieutenant Barlow, how he would smashhim and mangle him! In magnifying his prowess with the lens ofimagination he swelled and puffed as he lumbered along.

The firing sounded as if it were between the fort and the river;but presently when one of Hamilton's cannon spoke, M. Roussillonsaw the yellow spike of flame from its muzzle leap directly towardthe church, and he thought it best to make a wide detour to avoidgoing between the firing lines. Once or twice he heard the whineof a stray bullet high overhead. Before he had gone very far hemet a man hurrying toward the fort. It was Captain FrancisMaisonville, one of Hamilton's chief scouts, who had been out on areconnoissance and, cut off from his party by some of Clark'sforces, was trying to make his way to the main gate of thestockade.

M. Roussillon knew Maisonville as a somewhat desperate character,a leader of Indian forays and a trader in human scalps. Surely thefellow was legitimate prey.

"Ziff! diable de gredin!" he snarled, and leaping upon him chokedhim to the ground, "Je vais vous scalper immediatement!"

Clark's plan of approach showed masterly strategy. LieutenantBailey, with fourteen regulars, made a show of attack on the east,while Major Bowman led a company through the town, on a line nearwhere Main street in Vincennes is now located, to a point north ofthe stockade. Charleville, a brave creole, who was at the head ofsome daring fellows, by a brilliant dash got position under coverof a natural terrace at the edge of the prairie, opposite thefort's southwestern angle. Lieutenant Beverley, in whom thecommander placed highest confidence, was sent to look for a supplyof ammunition, and to gather up all the Frenchmen in the town whowished to join in the attack. Oncle Jazon and ten other availablemen went with him.

They all made a great noise when they felt that the place wascompletely invested. Nor can we deny, much as we would like to,the strong desire for vengeance which raised those shouting voicesand nerved those steady hearts to do or die in an undertakingwhich certainly had a desperate look. Patriotism of the pureststrain those men had, and that alone would have borne them up; butthe recollection of smouldering cabin homes in Kentucky, of womenand children murdered and scalped, of men brave and true burned atthe stake, and of all the indescribable outrages of Indian warfareincited and rewarded by the commander of the fort yonder, added topatriotism the terrible urge of that dark passion which clamorsfor blood to quench the fire of wrath. Not a few of those wet,half-frozen, emaciated soldiers of freedom had experienced thesoul rending shock of returning from a day's hunting in the forestto find home in ashes and loved ones brutally murdered andscalped, or dragged away to unspeakable outrage undercircumstances too harrowing for description, the bare thought ofwhich turns our blood cold, even at this distance. Now theopportunity had arrived for a stroke of retaliation. The thoughtwas tremendously stimulating.

Beverley, with the aid of Oncle Jazon, was able to lead his littlecompany as far as the church before the enemy saw him. Here avolley from the nearest angle of the stockade had to be answered,and pretty soon a cannon began to play upon the position.

"We kin do better some'rs else," was Oncle Jazon's laconic remarkflung back over his shoulder, as he moved briskly away from thespot just swept by a six-pounder. "Come this yer way, Lieutenant.I hyer some o' the fellers a talkin' loud jes' beyant Legrace'splace. They ain't no sort o' sense a tryin' to hit anything ashootin' in the dark nohow."

When they reached the thick of the town there was a strange stirin the dusky streets. Men were slipping from house to house,arming themselves and joining their neighbors. Clark had sent anorder earlier in the evening forbidding any street demonstrationby the inhabitants; but he might as well have ordered the wind notto blow or the river to stand still. Oncle Jazon knew every manwhose outlines he could see or whose voice he heard. He calledeach one by name:

"Here, Roger, fall in!--Come Louis, Alphonse, Victor, Octave--venez ici, here's the American army, come with me!" His rapidFrench phrases leaped forth as if shot from a pistol, and hisshrill voice, familiar to every ear in Vincennes, drew the creolemilitiamen to him, and soon Beverley's company had doubled itsnumbers, while at the same time its enthusiasm and ability to makea noise had increased in a far greater proportion. In accordancewith an order from Clark they now took position near the northeastcorner of the stockade and began firing, although in the darknessthere was but little opportunity for marksmanship.

Oncle Jazon had found citizens Legrace and Bosseron, and throughthem Clark's men were supplied with ammunition, of which theystood greatly in need, their powder having got wet during theirlong, watery march. By nine o'clock the fort was completelysurrounded, and from every direction the riflemen and musketeerswere pouring in volley after volley. Beverley with his men tookthe cover of a fence and some houses sixty yards from thestockade. Here to their surprise they found themselves below theline of Hamilton's cannon, which, being planted on the secondfloor of the fort, could not be sufficiently depressed to bearupon them. A well directed musket fire, however, fell from theloopholes of the blockhouses, the bullets rattling merrily againstthe cover behind which the attacking forces lay.

Beverley was thinking of Alice during every moment of all thisstir and tumult He feared that she might still be a prisoner inthe fort exposed to the very bullets that his men were dischargingat every crack and cranny of those loosely constructed buildings.Should he ever see her again? Would she care for him? What wouldbe the end of all this terrible suspense? Those remote forebodingsof evils, formless, shadowy, ineffable, which have harried thelover's heart since time began, crowded all pleasant anticipationsout of his mind.

Clark, in passing hurriedly from company to company around theline, stopped for a little while when he found Beverley.

"Have you plenty of ammunition?" was his first inquiry.

"A mighty sight more'n we kin see to shoot with," spoke up OncleJazon. "It's a right smart o' dad burn foolishness to be wastin'it on nothin'; seems like to me 'at we'd better set the dastedfort afire an' smoke the skunks out!"

"Speak when you are spoken to, my man," said the Colonel a triflehotly, and trying by a sharp scrutiny to make him out in the gloomwhere he crouched.

"Ventrebleu! I'm not askin' YOU, Colonel Clark, nor no other man,when I shill speak. I talks whenever I gits ready, an' I shootsjes' the same way. So ye'd better go on 'bout yer business like awhite man! Close up yer own whopper jawed mouth, ef ye wantanything shet up!"

"Oho! is that you, Jazon? You're so little I didn't know you!Certainly, talk your whole damned under jaw off, for all I care,"Clark replied, assuming a jocose tone. Then turning again toBeverley: "Keep up the firing and the noise; the fort will be oursin the morning."

"What's the use of waiting till morning?" Beverley demanded withimpatience. "We can tear that stockade to pieces with our hands inhalf an hour."

"I don't think so, Lieutenant. It is better to play for the surething. Keep up the racket, and be ready for 'em if they rush out.We must not fail to capture the hair-buyer General."

He passed on, with something cheerful to say whenever he found asquad of his devoted men. He knew how to humor and manage thoseindependent and undisciplined yet heroically brave fellows. Whatto see and hear, what to turn aside as a joke, what to insist uponwith inflexible mastery, he knew by the fine instantaneous senseof genius. There were many men of Oncle Jazon's cast, true assteel, but refractory as flint, who could not be dominated by anyperson, no matter of what stamp or office. To them an order was aninsult; but a suggestion pleased and captured them. Strange as itmay seem, theirs was the conquering spirit of America--the spiritwhich has survived every turn of progress and built up the greatbody of our independence.

Beverley submitted to Clark's plan with what patience he could,and all night long fired shot for shot with the best riflemen inhis squad. It was a fatiguing performance, with apparently littleresult beyond forcing the garrison now and again to close theembrasures. thus periodically silencing the cannon. Toward theclose of the night a relaxation showed itself in the shouting andfiring all round the line. Beverley's men, especially the creoles,held out bravely in the matter of noise; but even they flagged atlength, their volatility simmering down to desultory bubbling andhalf sleepy chattering and chaffing.

Beverley leaned upon a rude fence, and for a time neglected toreload his hot rifle. Of course he was thinking of Alice,--hereally could not think in any other direction; but it gave him ashock and a start when he presently heard her name mentioned by alittle Frenchman near him on the left.

"There'll never be another such a girl in Post Vincennes as AliceRoussillon," the fellow said in the soft creole patois, "and tothink of her being shot like a dog!"

"And by a man who calls himself a Governor, too!" said another."Ah, as for myself, I'm in favor of burning him alive when wecapture him. That's me!"

"Et moi aussi," chimed in a third voice. "That poor girl must beavenged. The man who shot her must die. Holy Virgin, but ifGaspard Roussillon were only here!"

"But he is here; I saw him just after dark. He was in greatfighting temper, that terrible man. Ouf! but I should not like tobe Colonel Hamilton and fall in the way of that GaspardRoussillon!"

"Morbleu! I should say not. You may leave me out of a chance likethat! I shouldn't mind seeing Gaspard handle the Governor, though.Ah, that would be too good! He'd pay him up for shootingMademoiselle Alice."

Beverley could scarcely hold himself erect by the fence; thesmoky, foggy landscape swam round him heavy and strange. Heuttered a groan, which brought Oncle Jazon to his side in a hurry.

Beverley did not hear the old man's words, did not feel his kindlytouch.

"Alice! Alice!" he murmured, "dead, dead!"

"Ya-as," drawled Oncle Jazon, "I hearn about it soon as I gotinter town. It's a sorry thing, a mighty sorry thing. But mebby Iwon't do a little somepin' to that--"

Beverley straightened himself and lifted his gun, forgetting thathe had not reloaded it since firing last. He leveled it at thefort and touched the trigger. Simultaneously with his movement anembrasure opened and a cannon flashed, its roar flanked on eitherside by a crackling of British muskets. Some bullets struck thefence and flung splinters into Oncle Jazon's face. A cannon ballknocked a ridge pole from the roof of a house hard by, and sent itwhirling through the air.

He capered around rubbing his leathery face after the manner of ascalded monkey. Beverley was struck in the breast by a flattenedand spent ball that glanced from a fence-picket. The shock causedhim to stagger and drop his gun; but he quickly picked it up andturned to his companion.

"Something did hit me," said Beverley, laying a hand on hisbreast, "but I don't think it was a bullet. They seem to begetting our range at last. Tell the men to keep well under cover.They must not expose themselves until we are ready to charge."

The shock had brought him back to his duty as a leader of hislittle company, and with the funeral bell of all his life'shappiness tolling in his agonized heart he turned afresh todirecting the fire upon the block-house.

About this time a runner came from Clark with an order to ceasefiring and let a returning party of British scouts under CaptainLamothe re-enter the fort unharmed. A strange order it seemed toboth officers and men; but it was implicitly obeyed. Clark'sgenius here made another fine strategic flash. He knew that unlesshe let the scouts go back into the stockade they would escape byrunning away, and might possibly organize an army of Indians withwhich to succor Hamilton. But if they were permitted to go insidethey could be captured with the rest of the garrison; hence hisorder.

A few minutes passed in dead silence; then Captain Lamothe and hisparty marched close by where Beverley's squad was lying concealed.It was a difficult task to restrain the creoles, for some of themhated Lamothe. Oncle Jazon squirmed like a snake while they filedpast all unaware that an enemy lurked so near. When they reachedthe fort, ladders were put down for them and they began to clamberover the wall, crowding and pushing one another in wild haste.Oncle Jazon could hold in no longer.

"Ya! ya! ya I" he yelled. "Look out! the ladder is a fallin' wi'ye!"

Then all the lurking crowd shouted as one man, and, sure enough,down came a ladder--men and all in a crashing heap.

"Silence! silence!" Beverley commanded; but he could not check thewild jeering and laughing, while the bruised and frightened scoutshastily erected their ladder again, fairly tumbling over oneanother in their haste to ascend, and so cleared the wall, fallinginto the stockade to join the garrison.

Now the fighting was resumed with redoubled spirit and noise, andwhen morning came, affording sufficient light to bring out the"bead sights" on the Kentucky rifles, the matchless marksmen inClark's band forced the British to close the embrasures andentirely cease trying to use their cannon; but the fight withsmall arms went merrily on until the middle of the forenoon.

Meantime Gaspard Roussillon had tied Francis Maisonville's handsfast and hard with the strap of his bullet-pouch.

"Now, I'll scalp you," he said in a rumbling tone, terrible tohear. And with his words out came his hunting knife from itssheath.

"Mercy! yes, like your Colonel's, that's what you'll get. Youstand by that forban, that scelerat, that bandit, and help him.Oh, yes, you'll get mercy! Yes, the same mercy that he showed tomy poor little Alice! Your scalp, Monsieur, if you please! A smallmatter; it won't hurt much!"

"But, for the sake of old friendship, Gaspard, for the sake--"

"Ziff! poor little Alice!"

"But I swear to you that I--"

"Tout de meme, Monsieur, je vais vous scalper maintenant."

In fact he had taken off a part of Maisonville's scalp, when aparty of soldiers, among whom was Maisonville's brother, a bravefellow and loyal to the American cause, were attracted by hiscries and came to his rescue.

M. Roussillon struggled savagely, insisting upon completing hiscruel performance; but he was at last overpowered, partly by bruteforce and partly by the pleading of Maisonville's brother, andmade to desist. The big man wept with rage when he saw thebleeding prisoner protected. "Eh bien! I'll keep what I've got,"he roared, "and I'll take the rest of it next time."

He shook the tuft of hair at Maisonville and glared like a madbull.

Two or three other members of Lamothe's band were captured aboutthe same time by some of the French militiamen; and Clark, when onhis round cheering and directing his forces, discovered that theseprisoners were being used as shields. Some young creoles, gay withdrink and the stimulating effect of fight, had bound the poorfellows and were firing from behind them! Of course the commanderpromptly put an end to this cruelty; but they considered itexquisite fun while it lasted. It was in broad daylight, and theyknew that the English in the fort could see what they were doing.

"It's shameful to treat prisoners in this way," said Clark. "Iwill not permit it. Shoot the next man that offers to do such athing!"

One of the creole youths, a handsome, swarthy Adonis in buckskin,tossed his shapely head with a debonair smile and said:

"To be sure, mon Colonel! but what have they been doing to us? Wehave amused them all winter; it's but fair that they should giveus a little fun now."

Clark shrugged his broad shoulders and passed on. He understoodperfectly what the people of Vincennes had suffered underHamilton's brutal administration.

At nine o'clock an order was passed to cease firing, and a flag oftruce was seen going from Clark's headquarters to the fort. It wasa peremptory demand for unconditional surrender. Hamilton refused,and fighting was fiercely resumed from behind rude breastworksmeantime erected. Every loop-hole and opening of whatever sort wasthe focus into which the unerring backwoods rifles sent theirdeadly bullets. Men began to fall in the fort, and every momentHamilton expected an assault in force on all sides of thestockade. This, if successful, would mean inevitable massacre.Clark had warned him of the terrible consequences of holding outuntil the worst should come. "For," said he in his note to theGovernor, "if I am obliged to storm, you may depend upon suchtreatment as is justly due to a murderer."

Historians have wondered why Hamilton became so excited and actedso strangely after receiving the note. The phrase, "justly due toa murderer," is the key to the mystery. When he read it his heartsank and a terrible fear seized him. "Justly due to a murderer!"ah, that calm, white, beautiful girlish face, dead in themoonlight, with the wisp of shining hair across it! "Suchtreatment as is justly due to a murderer!" Cold drops of sweatbroke out on his forehead and a shiver went through his body.

During the truce Clark's weary yet still enthusiastic besiegersenjoyed a good breakfast prepared for them by the loyal dames ofVincennes. Little Adrienne Bourcier was one of the handmaidens ofthe occasion. She brought to Beverley's squad a basket, almost aslarge as herself, heaped high with roasted duck and warm wheatenbread, while another girl bore two huge jugs of coffee, fragrantand steaming hot. The men cheered them lustily and complimentedthem without reserve, so that before their service was over theirfaces were glowing with delight

And yet Adrienne's heart was uneasy, and full of longing to hearsomething of Rene de Ronville. Surely some one of her friends mustknow something about him. Ah, there was Oncle Jazon! Doubtless hecould tell her all that she wanted to know. She lingered, afterthe food was distributed, and shyly inquired.

"Hain't seed the scamp," said Oncle Jazon, only he used the patoismost familiar to the girl's ear. "Killed an' scelped long ago, Ireckon."

His mouth was so full that he spoke mumblingly and with utmostdifficulty. Nor did he glance at Adrienne, whose face took on asgreat pallor as her brown complexion could show.

Beverley ate but little of the food. He sat apart on a piece oftimber that projected from the rough breastwork and gave himselfover to infinite misery of spirit, which was trebled when he tookAlice's locket from his bosom, only to discover that the bulletwhich struck him had almost entirely destroyed the face of theminiature.

He gripped the dinted and twisted case and gazed at it with thestare of a blind man. His heart almost ceased to beat and hisbreath had the rustling sound we hear when a strong man dies of asudden wound. Somehow the defacement of the portrait was taken byhis soul as the final touch of fate, signifying that Alice wasforever and completely obliterated from his life. He felt a blurpass over his mind. He tried in vain to recall the face and formso dear to him; he tried to imagine her voice; but the wholeuniverse was a vast hollow silence. For a long while he was cold,staring, rigid; then the inevitable collapse came, and he wept asonly a strong man can who is hurt to death, yet cannot die.

Adrienne approached him, thinking to speak to him about Rene; buthe did not notice her, and she went her way, leaving beside him aliberal supply of food.

CHAPTER XX

ALICE'S FLAG

Governor Hamilton received the note sent him by Colonel Clark andreplied to it with curt dignity; but his heart was quaking. As asoldier he was true to the military tradition, and nothing couldhave induced him to surrender his command with dishonor.

"Lieutenant-Governor Hamilton," he wrote to Clark, "begs leave toacquaint Colonel Clark that he and his garrison are not disposedto be awed into any action unworthy of British subjects."

"Very brave words," said Helm, when Hamilton read the note to him,"but you'll sing a milder tune before many minutes, or you andyour whole garrison will perish in a bloody heap. Listen to thosewild yells! Clark has enough men to eat you all up for breakfast.You'd better be reasonable and prudent. It's not bravery to courtmassacre."

Hamilton turned away without a word and sent the message; but Helmsaw that he was excited, and could be still further wrought up.

"You are playing into the hands of your bitterest enemies, thefrog-eaters," he went on. "These creoles, over whom you've held ahot poker all winter, are crazy to be turned loose upon you; andyou know that they've got good cause to feel like giving you theextreme penalty. They'll give it to you without a flinch if theyget the chance. You've done enough."

Hamilton whirled about and glared ferociously.

"Helm, what do you mean?" he demanded in a voice as hollow as itwas full of desperate passion.

The genial Captain laughed, as if he had heard a good joke.

"You won't catch any fish if you swear, and you look blasphemous,"he said with the lightness of humor characteristic of him at alltimes. "You'd better say a prayer or two. Just reflect a momentupon the awful sins you have committed and--"

A crash of coalescing volleys from every direction broke off hislevity. Clark was sending his response to Hamilton's lofty note.The guns of freedom rang out a prophecy of triumph, and thehissing bullets clucked sharply as they entered the solid logs ofthe walls or whisked through an aperture and bowled over a man.The British musketeers returned the fire as best they could, witha courage and a stubborn coolness which Helm openly admired,although he could not hide his satisfaction whenever one of themwas disabled.

"Lamothe and his men are refusing to obey orders," said Farnswortha little later, hastily approaching Hamilton, his face flushed anda gleam of hot anger in his eyes. "They're in a nasty mood; I cando nothing with them; they have not fired a shot."

"Mutiny?" Hamilton demanded.

"Not just that. They say they do not wish to fire on their kinsmenand friends. They are all French, you know, and they see theircousins, brothers, uncles and old acquaintances out there inClark's rabble. I can do nothing with them."

"Shoot the scoundrels, then!"

"It will be a toss up which of us will come out on top if we trythat. Besides, if we begin a fight inside, the Americans will makeshort work of us."

"Well, what in hell are we to do, then?"

"Oh, fight, that's all," said Farnsworth apathetically turning toa small loop-hole and leveling a field glass through it. "We mightmake a rush from the gates and stampede them," he presently added.Then he uttered an exclamation of great surprise.

"There's Lieutenant Beverley out there," he exclaimed.

"You're mistaken, you're excited," Hamilton half sneeringlyremarked, yet not without a shade of uneasiness in his expression."You forget, sir."

"I saw Beverley an hour ago," said Helm. "I knew all the time thathe'd be on hand."

It was a white lie. Captain Helm was as much surprised as hiscaptors at what he heard; but he could not resist the temptationto be annoying.

Hamilton looked as Farnsworth directed, and sure enough, there wasthe young Virginian Lieutenant, standing on a barricade, his hatoff, cheering his men with a superb show of zeal. Not a hair ofhis head was missing, so far as the glass could be relied upon toshow.

Oncle Jazon's quick old eyes saw the gleam of the telescope tubein the loop-hole.

"I never could shoot much," he muttered, and then a little bulletsped with absolute accuracy from his disreputable looking rifleand shattered the object-lens, just as Hamilton moved to withdrawthe glass, uttering an ejaculation of intense excitement.

"Such devils of marksmen!" said he, and his face was haggard."That infernal Indian lied."

"I could have told you all the time that the scalp Long-Hairbrought to you was not Beverley's," said Helm indifferently. "Irecognized Lieutenant Barlow's hair as soon as I saw it."

This was another piece of off-hand romance. Helm did not dreamthat he was accidentally sketching a horrible truth.

"Barlow's!" exclaimed Farnsworth.

"Yes, Barlow's, no mistake--"

Two more men reeled from a port-hole, the blood spinning far outof their wounds. Indeed, through every aperture in the walls thebullets were now humming like mad hornets.

"Close that port-hole!" stormed Hamilton; then turning toFarnsworth he added: "We cannot endure this long. Shut up everyplace large enough for a bullet to get through. Go all around,give strict orders to all. See that the men do not foolishlyexpose themselves. Those ruffians out there have located everycrack."

His glimpse of Beverley and the sinister remark of Helm hadcompletely unmanned him before his men fell. Now it rushed uponhim that if he would escape the wrath of the maddened creoles andthe vengeance of Alice's lover, he must quickly throw himself uponthe mercy of Clark. It was his only hope. He chafed inwardly, butbore himself with stern coolness. He presently sought Farnsworth,pulled him aside and suggested that something must be done toprevent an assault and a massacre. The sounds outside seemed toforebode a gathering for a desperate rush, and in his heart hefelt all the terrors of awful anticipation.

"We are completely at their mercy, that is plain," he said,shrugging his shoulders and gazing at the wounded men writhing intheir agony. "What do you suggest?"

Captain Farnsworth was a shrewd officer. He recollected thatPhilip Dejean, justice of Detroit, was on his way down the Wabashfrom that post, and probably near at hand, with a flotilla of menand supplies. Why not ask for a few days of truce? It could do noharm, and if agreed to, might be their salvation. Hamilton jumpedat the thought, and forthwith drew up a note which he sent outwith a white flag. Never before in all his military career had hebeen so comforted by a sudden cessation of fighting. His soulwould grovel in spite of him. Alice's cold face now had Beverley'sbeside it in his field of inner vision--a double assurance ofimpending doom, it seemed to him.

There was short delay in the arrival of Colonel Clark's reply,hastily scrawled on a bit of soiled paper. The request for a trucewas flatly refused; but the note closed thus:

"If Mr. Hamilton is Desirous of a Conferance with Col. Clark hewill meet him at the Church with Captn. Helms."

The spelling was not very good, and there was a redundancy ofcapital letters; yet Hamilton understood it all; and it was verydifficult for him to conceal his haste to attend the proposedconference. But he was afraid to go to the church--the thoughtchilled him. He could not face Father Beret, who would probably bethere. And what if there should be evidences of the funeral?--whatif?--he shuddered and tried to break away from the vision in histortured brain.

He sent a proposition to Clark to meet him on the esplanade beforethe main gate of the fort; but Clark declined, insisting upon thechurch. And thither he at last consented to go. It was an immensebrace to his spirit to have Helm beside him during that walk,which, although but eighty yards in extent, seemed to him a matterof leagues. On the way he had to pass near the new position takenup by Beverley and his men. It was a fine test of nerve, when theLieutenant's eyes met those of the Governor. Neither man permittedthe slightest change of countenance to betray his feelings. Infact, Beverley's face was as rigid as marble; he could not havechanged it.

But with Oncle Jazon it was a different affair. He had no dignityto preserve, no fine military bearing to sustain, no terrible tugof conscience, no paralyzing grip of despair on his heart. When hesaw Hamilton going by, bearing himself so superbly, it affectedthe French volatility in his nature to such an extent that histongue could not be controlled.

The blood in Hamilton's veins caught no warmth from these remarks;but he held his head high and passed stolidly on, as if he did nothear a word. Helm turned the tail of an eye upon Oncle Jazon andgave him a droll, quizzical wink of approval. In response the oldman with grotesque solemnity drew his buckhorn handled knife,licked its blade and returned it to its sheath,--a bit ofpantomime well understood and keenly enjoyed by the onlookingcreoles.

"Putois! coquin!" they jeered, "goujat! poltron!"

Beverley heard the taunting racket, but did not realize it, whichwas well enough, for he could not have restrained the bittereffervescence. He stood like a statue, gazing fixedly at the nowreceding figure, the lofty, cold-faced man in whom centered hishate of hates. Clark had requested him to be present at theconference in the church; but he declined, feeling that he couldnot meet Hamilton and restrain himself. Now he regretted hisrefusal, half wishing that--no, he could not assassinate an enemyunder a white flag. In his heart he prayed that there would be nosurrender, that Hamilton would reject every offer. To storm thefort and revel in butchering its garrison seemed the onlydesirable thing left for him in life.

Father Beret was, indeed, present at the church, as Hamilton haddreaded; and the two duelists gave each other a rapier-like eye-thrust. Neither spoke, however, and Clark immediately demanded asettlement of the matter in hand. He was brusque and imperious toa degree, apparently rather anxious to repel every peacefuladvance.

It was a laconic interview, crisp as autumn ice and bitter asgallberries. Colonel Clark had no respect whatever for Hamilton,to whom he had applied the imperishable adjective "hair-buyerGeneral." On the other hand Governor Hamilton, who felt keenly thedisgrace of having to equalize himself officially and discussterms of surrender with a rough backwoodsman, could not concealhis contempt of Clark.

The five men of history, Hamilton, Helm, Hay, Clark and Bowman,were not distinguished diplomats. They went at their work ratherafter the hammer-and-tongs fashion. Clark bluntly demandedunconditional surrender. Hamilton refused. They argued the matter.Helm put in his oar, trying to soften the situation, as was hiscustom on all occasions, and received from Clark a stingingreprimand, with the reminder that he was nothing but a prisoner onparole, and had no voice at all in settling the terms ofsurrender.

"I release him, sir," said Hamilton. "He is no longer a prisoner.I am quite willing to have Captain Helm join freely in ourconference."

"And I refuse to permit his acceptance of your favor," respondedClark. "Captain Helm, you will return with Mr. Hamilton to thefort and remain his captive until I free you by force. Meantimehold your tongue."

Father Beret, suave looking and quiet, occupied himself at thelittle altar, apparently altogether indifferent to what was beingsaid; but he lost not a word of the talk.

Hamilton rose to go; deep lines of worry creased his face; butwhen the party had passed outside, he suddenly turned upon Clarkand said:

"Why do you demand impossible terms of me?"

"I will tell you, sir," was the stern answer, in a tone in whichthere was no mercy or compromise. "I would rather have you refuse.I desire nothing so much as an excuse to wreak full and bloodyvengeance on every man in that fort who has engaged in thebusiness of employing savages to scalp brave, patriotic men anddefenseless women and children. The cries of the widows and thefatherless on our frontiers require the blood of the Indianpartisans at my hands. If you choose to risk the massacre of yourgarrison to save those despicable red-handed partisans, have yourpleasure. What you have done you know better than I do. I have aduty to perform. You may be able to soften its nature. I may takeit into my head to send for some of our bereaved women to witnessmy terrible work and see that it is well done, if you insist uponthe worst."

Major Hay, who was Hamilton's Indian agent, now, with somedifficulty clearing his throat, spoke up.

"Pray, sir," said he, "who is it that you call Indian partisans?""Sir," replied Clark, seeing that his words had gone solidly home,"I take Major Hay to be one of the principals."

This seemed to strike Hay with deadly force, dark's report saysthat he was "pale and trembling, scarcely able to stand," and that"Hamilton blushed, and, I observed, was much affected at hisbehavior. "Doubtless, if the doughty American commander had knownmore about the Governor's feelings just then, he would have addedthat an awful fear, even greater than the Indian agent's, did morethan anything else to congest the veins in his face.

The parties separated without reaching an agreement; but the endhad come. The terror in Hamilton's soul was doubled by a wildscene enacted under the walls of his fort; a scene which, havingno proper place in this story, strong as its historical interestunquestionably is, must be but outlined. A party of Indiansreturning from a scalping expedition in Kentucky and along theOhio, was captured on the outskirts of the town by some of Clark'smen, who proceeded to kill and scalp them within full view of thebeleaguered garrison, after which their mangled bodies were flunginto the river.

If the British commander needed further wine of dread to fill hiscup withal, it was furnished by ostentatious marshaling of theAmerican forces for a general assault. His spirit brokecompletely, so that it looked like a godsend to him when Clarkfinally offered terms of honorable surrender, the consummation ofwhich was to be postponed until the following morning. He acceptedpromptly, appending to the articles of capitulation the followingreasons for his action: "The remoteness from succor; the state andquantity of provisions, etc.; unanimity of officers and men in itsexpediency; the honorable terms allowed; and, lastly, theconfidence in a generous enemy."

Confidence in a generous enemy! Abject fear of the vengeance justwreaked upon his savage emissaries would have been the truestatement. Beverley read the paper when Clark sent for him; but hecould not join in the extravagant delight of his fellow officersand their brave men. What did all this victory mean to him?Hamilton to be treated as an honorable prisoner of war, permittedto strut forth from the feat with his sword at his side, his headup--the scalp-buyer, the murderer of Alice! What was patriotismto the crushed heart of a lover? Even if his vision had been ableto pierce the future and realize the splendor of Anglo-Saxoncivilization which was to follow that little triumph at Vincennes,what pleasure could it have afforded him? Alice, Alice, onlyAlice; no other thought had influence, save the recurring surge ofdesire for vengeance upon her murderer.

And yet that night Beverley slept, and so forgot his despair formany hours, even dreamed a pleasant dream of home, where hischildhood was spent, of the stately old house on the breezy hill-top overlooking a sunny plantation, with a little river lapsingand shimmering through it. His mother's dear arms were around him,her loving breath stirred his hair; and his stalwart, gray-headedfather sat on the veranda comfortably smoking his pipe, while awayin the wide fields the negroes sang at the plow and the hoe.Sweeter and sweeter grew the scene, softer the air, tenderer theblending sounds of the water-murmur, leaf-rustle, bird-song, andslave-song, until hand in hand he wandered with Alice in greeninggroves, where the air was trembling with the ecstacy of spring.

A young officer awoke him with an order from Clark to go on dutyat once with Captains Worthington and Williams, who, under ColonelClark himself, were to take possession of the fort. Mechanicallyhe obeyed. The sun was far up, shining between clouds of a leaden,watery hue, by the time everything was ready for the importantceremony. Beside the main gate of the stockade two companies ofpatriots under Bowman and McCarty were drawn up as guards, whilethe British garrison filed out and was taken in charge. This bitof formality ended, Governor Hamilton, attended by some of hisofficers, went back into the fort and the gate was closed.

Clark now gave orders that preparations be made for hauling downthe British flag and hoisting the young banner of liberty in itsplace, when everything should be ready for a salute of thirteenguns from the captured battery.

Helm's round face was beaming. Plainly it showed that hishappiness was supreme. He dared not say anything, however; forClark was now all sternness and formality; it would be dangerousto take any liberties; but he could smile and roll his quid oftobacco from cheek to cheek.

Hamilton and Farnsworth, the latter slightly wounded in the leftarm, which was bandaged, stood together somewhat apart from theirfellow officers, while preliminary steps for celebrating theirdefeat and capture were in progress. They looked forlorn enough tohave excited deep sympathy under fairer conditions.

Outside the fort the creoles were beginning a noise of jubilation.The rumor of what was going to be done had passed from mouth tomouth, until every soul in the town knew and thrilled withexpectancy. Men, women and children came swarming to see thesight, and to hear at close range the crash of the cannon. Theyshouted, in a scattering way at first, then the tumult grewswiftly to a solid rolling tide that seemed beyond all comparisonwith the population of Vincennes. Hamilton heard it, and trembledinwardly, afraid lest the mob should prove too strong for theguard.

One leonine voice roared distinctly, high above the noise. It wasa sound familiar to all the creoles,--that bellowing shout ofGaspard Roussillon's. He was roaming around the stockade, havingbeen turned back by the guard when he tried to pass through themain gate.

He attracted but little attention, however; the people and thesoldiery were all too excited by the special interest of theoccasion, and too busy with making a racket of their own, for anyindividual, even the great Roussillon, to gain their eyes or ears.He in turn scarcely heard the tumult they made, so self-centeredwere his burning thoughts and feelings. A great occasion inVincennes and he, Gaspard Roussillon, not recognized as one of thelarge factors in it! Ah, no, never! And he strode along the wallof the stockade, turning the corners and heavily shambling overthe inequalities till he reached the postern. It was not fastened,some one having passed through just before him.

"Ziff!" he ejaculated, stepping into the area and shaking himselfafter the manner of a dusty mastiff. "C'est moi! GaspardRoussillon!" His massive under jaw was set like that of a vise,yet it quivered with rage, a rage which was more fierycondensation of self-approval than anger.

Outside the shouting, singing and huzzahs gathered strength andvolume, until the sound became a hoarse roar. Clark was uneasy; hehad overheard much of a threatening character during the siege.The creoles were, he knew, justly exasperated, and even his ownmen had been showing a spirit which might easily be fanned into adangerous flame of vengeance. He was very anxious to have theformalities of taking possession of the fort over with, so that hecould the better control his forces. Sending for Beverley heassigned him to the duty of hauling down the British flag andrunning up that of Virginia. It was an honor of no doubtful sort,which under different circumstances would have made theLieutenant's heart glow. As it was, he proceeded without any senseof pride or pleasure, moving as a mere machine in performing anact significant beyond any other done west of the mountains, inthe great struggle for American independence and the control ofAmerican territory.

Hamilton stood a little way from the foot of the tall flag-pole,his arms folded on his breast, his chin slightly drawn in, hisbrows contracted, gazing steadily at Beverley while he was untyingthe halyard, which had been wound around the pole's base aboutthree feet above the ground. The American troops in the fort weredisposed so as to form three sides of a hollow square, facinginward. Oncle Jazon, serving as the ornamental extreme of oneline, was conspicuous for his outlandish garb and unmilitarybearing. The silence inside the stockade offered a strong contrastto the tremendous roar of voices outside. Clark made a signal, andat the tap of a drum, Beverley shook the ropes loose and began tolower the British colors. Slowly the bright emblem of earth'smightiest nation crept down in token of the fact that a handful ofback-woodsmen had won an empire by a splendid stroke of pureheroism. Beverley detached the flag, and saluting, handed it toColonel Clark. Hamilton's breast heaved and his iron jawstightened their pressure until the lines of his cheeks were deepfurrows of pain.

Father Beret, who had just been admitted, quietly took a place atone side near the wall. There was a fine, warm, benignant smile onhis old face, yet his powerful shoulders drooped as if weighteddown with a heavy load. Hamilton was aware when he entered, andinstantly the scene of their conflict came into his memory withawful vividness, and he saw Alice lying outstretched, stark and,cold, the shining strand of hair fluttering across her pallidcheek. Her ghost overshadowed him.

Just then there was a bird-like movement, a wing-like rustle, anda light figure flitted swiftly across the area. All eyes wereturned upon it. Hamilton recoiled, as pale as death, half liftinghis hands, as if to ward off a deadly blow, and then a gay flagwas flung out over his head. He saw before him the girl he hadshot; but her beautiful face was not waxen now, nor was it cold orlifeless. The rich red blood was strong under the browned, yetdelicate skin, the eyes were bright and brave, the cherry lips,slightly apart, gave a glimpse of pearl white teeth, and thedimples,--those roguish dimples,--twinkled sweetly.

Colonel Clark looked on in amazement, and in spite of himself, inadmiration. He did not understand; the sudden incident bewilderedhim; but his virile nature was instantly and wholly charmed.Something like a breath of violets shook the tenderest chords ofhis heart.

Alice stood firmly, a statue of triumph, her right armoutstretched, holding the flag high above Hamilton's head; andclose by her side the little hunchback Jean was posed in his mostcharacteristic attitude, gazing at the banner which he himself hadstolen and kept hidden for Alice's sake, and because he loved it.

There was a dead silence for some moments, during which Hamilton'sface showed that he was ready to collapse; then the keen voice ofOncle Jazon broke forth:

"Vive Zhorzh Vasinton! Vim la banniere d'Alice Roussillon!"

He sprang to the middle of the area and flung his old cap high inair, with a shrill war-whoop.

He was dancing with a rickety liveliness, his goatish legs andshriveled body giving him the look of an emaciated satyr.

Clark had been told by some of his creole officers the story ofhow Alice raised the flag when Helm took the fort, and how shesnatched it from Hamilton's hand, as it were, and would not giveit up when he demanded it. The whole situation pretty soon beganto explain itself, as he saw what Alice was doing. Then he heardher say to Hamilton, while she slowly swayed the rippling flagback and forth:

"I said, as you will remember, Monsieur le Gouverneur, that whenyou next should see this flag, I should wave it over your head.Well, look, I am waving it! Vive la republique! Vive GeorgeWashington! What do you think of it, Monsieur le Gouverneur?"

The poor little hunchback Jean took off his cap and tossed it inrhythmical emphasis, keeping time to her words.

And now from behind the hollow square came a mighty voice:

"C'est moi, Gaspard Roussillon; me voici, messieurs!"

There was a spirit in the air which caught from Alice a thrill ofromantic energy. The men in the ranks and the officers in front ofthem felt a wave of irresistible sympathy sweep through theirhearts. Her picturesque beauty, her fine temper, the fitness ofthe incident to the occasion, had an instantaneous power whichmoved all men alike.

"Raise her flag! Run up the young lady's flag!" some one shouted,and then every voice seemed to echo the words. Clark was a youngman of noble type, in whose veins throbbed the warm chivalrousblood of the cavaliers. A waft of the suddenly prevailinginfluence bore him also quite off his feet. He turned to Beverleyand said:

"Do it! It will have a great effect. It is a good idea; get theyoung lady's flag and her permission to run it up."

Before he finished speaking, indeed at the first glance, he sawthat Beverley, like Hamilton, was white as a dead man; and at thesame time it came to his memory that his young friend had confidedto him during the awful march through the prairie wilderness, alove-story about this very Alice Roussillon. In the worry andstress of the subsequent struggle, he had forgotten the tenderbasis upon which Beverley had rested his excuse for leavingVincennes. Now, it all reappeared in justification of what wasgoing on. It touched the romantic core of his southern nature.

"I say, Lieutenant Beverley," he repeated, "beg the young lady'spermission to use her flag upon this glorious occasion; or shall Ido it for you?"

There were no miracles in those brave days, and the strain of lifewith its terrible realities braced all men and women to meetsudden explosions of surprise, whether of good or bad effect, withadmirable equipoise; but Beverley's trial, it must be admitted,was extraordinary; still he braced himself quickly and his wholeexpression changed when Clark moved to go to Alice. For herealized now that it was, indeed, Alice in flesh and blood,standing there, the center of admiration, filling the air with herfine magnetism and crowning a great triumph with her beauty. Hegave her a glad, flashing smile, as if he had just discovered her,and walked straight to her, his hands extended. She was notlooking toward him; but she saw him and turned to face him. Herswas the advantage; for she had known, for some hours, of hispresence in Vincennes, and had prepared herself to meet himcourageously and with maidenly reserve.

There is no safety, however, where Love lurks. Neither Beverleynor Alice was as much agitated at Hamilton, yet they both forgot,what he remembered, that a hundred grim frontier soldiers werelooking on. Hamilton had his personal and official dignity tosustain, and he fairly did it, under what a pressure ofhumiliating and surprising circumstances we can fully comprehend.Not so with the two young people, standing as it were in asuddenly bestowed and incomparable happiness, on the verge of anew life, each to the other an unexpected, unhoped-forresurrection from the dead. To them there was no universe save theillimitable expanse of their love. In that moment of meeting, allthat they had suffered on account of love was transfused andpoured forth,--a glowing libation for love's sake,--a flood beforewhich all barriers broke.

Father Beret was looking on with a strange fire in his eyes, andwhat he feared would happen, did happen. Alice let the flag fallat Hamilton's feet, when Beverley came near her smiling thatgreat, glad smile, and with a joyous cry leaped into hisoutstretched arms.

Jean snatched up the fallen banner and ran to Colonel Clark withit. Two minutes later it was made fast and the halyard began tosqueak through the rude pulley at the top of the pole. Up, up,climbed the gay little emblem of glory, while the cannon crashedfrom the embrasures of the blockhouse hard by, and outside theroar of voices redoubled. Thirteen guns boomed the salute, thoughit should have been fourteen,--the additional one for the greatNorthwestern Territory, that day annexed to the domain of theyoung American Republic. The flag went up at old Vincennes neverto come down again, and when it reached its place at the top ofthe staff, Beverley and Alice stood side by side looking at it,while the sun broke through the clouds and flashed on its shiningfolds, and love unabashed glorified the two strong young faces.

CHAPTER XXI

SOME TRANSACTIONS IN SCALPS

History would be a very orderly affair, could the dry-as-dusthistorians have their way, and doubtless it would be thrillinglyromantic at every turn if the novelists were able to control itscurrent. Fortunately neither one nor the other has much influence,and the result, in the long run, is that most novels areshockingly tame, while the large body of history is loaded downwith picturesque incidents, which if used in fiction, would bethought absurdly romantic and improbable.

Were our simple story of old Vincennes a mere fiction, we shouldhesitate to bring in the explosion of a magazine at the fort witha view to sudden confusion and, by that means, distractingattention from our heroine while she betakes herself out of asituation which, although delightful enough for a blessed minute,has quickly become an embarrassment quite unendurable. But wesimply adhere to the established facts in history. Owing to somecarelessness there was, indeed, an explosion of twenty-six six-pound cartridges, which made a mighty roar and struck the newlyinstalled garrison into a heap, so to say, scattering thingsterribly and wounding six men, among them Captains Bowman andWorthington.

After the thunderous crash came a momentary silence, whichembraced both the people within the fort and the wild crowdoutside. Then the rush and noise were indescribable. Even Clarkgave way to excitement, losing command of himself and, of course,of his men. There was a stampede toward the main gate by one wingof the troops in the hollow square. They literally ran overBeverley and Alice, flinging them apart and jostling them hitherand yonder without mercy. Of course the turmoil quickly subsided.Clark and Beverley got hold of themselves and sang out theirperemptory orders with excellent effect. It was like oil on ragingwater; the men obeyed in a straggling way, getting back into ranksas best they could.

"Ventrebleu!" squeaked Oncle Jazon, "ef I didn't think the oleworld had busted into a million pieces!"

He was jumping up and down not three feet from Beverley's toes,waving his cap excitedly.

Hearing Alice's name caused Beverley to look around. Where wasshe? In the distance he saw Father Beret hurrying to the spotwhere some of the men burnt and wounded by the explosion werebeing stripped and cared for. Hamilton still stood like a statue.He appeared to be the only cool person in the fort.

"Where is Alice?--Miss Roussillon--where did Miss Roussillon go?"Beverley exclaimed, staring around like a lost man. "Where isshe?"

"Lieutenant Beverley," roared Clark in his most commanding tone,"go to the gate and settle things there. That mob outside istrying to break in!"

The order was instantly obeyed, but Beverley had relapsed. Oncemore his soul groped in darkness, while the whole of his lifeseemed unreal, a wavering, misty, hollow dream. And yet hismilitary duty was all real enough. He knew just what to do when hereached the gate.

"Back there at once!" he commanded, not loudly, but with intenseforce, "back there!" This to the inward surging wedge of excitedoutsiders. Then to the guard.

A great body hurled itself frantically past Beverley and theguard, going out through the gateway against the wall of thecrowd, bearing everything before it and shouting:

"Back, fools! you'll all be killed--the powder is on fire! Ziff!run!"

Wild as a March hare, he bristled with terror and foamed at themouth. He stampeded the entire mass. There was a wild howl; a rushin the other direction followed, and soon enough the esplanade andall the space back to the barricades and beyond were quitedeserted.

Alice was not aware that a serious accident had happened.Naturally she thought the great, rattling, crashing noise of theexplosion a mere part of the spectacular show. When the rushfollowed, separating her and Beverley, it was a great relief toher in some way; for a sudden recognition of the boldness of heraction in the little scene just ended, came over her andbewildered her. An impulse sent her running away from the spotwhere, it seemed to her, she had invited public derision. Theterrible noises all around her were, she now fancied, but thejeering and hooting of rude men who had seen her unmaidenlyforwardness.

With a burning face she flew to the postern and slipped out, oncemore taking the course which had become so familiar to her feet.She did not slacken her speed until she reached the Bourciercabin, where she had made her home since the night when Hamilton'spistol ball struck her. The little domicile was quite empty of itshousehold, but Alice entered and flung herself into a chair, whereshe sat quivering and breathless when Adrienne, also much excited,came in, preceded by a stream of patois that sparkledcontinuously.

"The fort is blown up!" she cried, gesticulating in everydirection at once, her petite figure comically dilated with theimportance of her statement. "A hundred men are killed, and thepowder is on fire!"

She pounced into Alice's arms, still talking as fast as her tonguecould vibrate, changing from subject to subject without rhyme orreason, her prattle making its way by skips and shies until whatwas really upper-most in her sweet little heart disclosed itself.

"And, O Alice! Rene has not come yet!"

She plunged her dusky face between Alice's cheek and shoulder;Alice hugged her sympathetically and said:

"But Rene will come, I know he will, dear."

"Oh, but do you know it? is it true? who told you? when will hecome? where is he? tell me about him!"

Her head popped up from her friend's neck and she smiledbrilliantly through the tears that were still sparkling on herlong black lashes.

"I didn't mean that I had heard from him, and I don't know wherehe is; but--but they always come back."

"You say that because your man--because Lieutenant Beverley hasreturned. It is always so. You have everything to make you happy,while I--I--"

Again her eyes spilled their shower, and she hid her face in herhands which Alice tried in vain to remove.

"Don't cry, Adrienne. You didn't see me crying--"

"No, of course not; you didn't have a thing to cry about.Lieutenant Beverley told you just where he was going and justwhat--"

"But think, Adrienne, only think of the awful story they told--that he was killed, that Governor Hamilton had paid Long-Hair forkilling him and bringing back his scalp--oh dear, just think! AndI thought it was true."

"Well, I'd be willing to think and believe anything in the world,if Rene would come back," said Adrienne, her face, now uncovered,showing pitiful lines of suffering. "O Alice, Alice, and he never,never will come!"

Alice exhausted every device to cheer, encourage and comfort her.Adrienne had been so good to her when she lay recovering from theshock of Hamilton's pistol bullet, which, although it came nearkilling her, made no serious wound--only a bruise, in fact. It wasone of those fortunate accidents, or providentially orderedinterferences, which once in a while save a life. The stone discworn by Alice chanced to lie exactly in the missile's way, andwhile it was not broken, the ball, already somewhat checked bypassing through several folds of Father Beret's garments,flattened itself upon it with a shock which somehow struck Alicesenseless.

Here again, history in the form of an ancient family document (aletter written in 1821 by Alice herself), gives us the curiousbrace of incidents, to wit, the breaking of the miniature onBeverley's breast by a British musket-ball, and the stopping ofHamilton's bullet over Alice's heart by the Indian charm-stone.

"Which shows the goodness of God," the letter goes on, "and alsoseems to sustain the Indian legend concerning the stone, thatwhoever might wear it could not be killed. Unquestionable (sic)Mr. Hamilton's shot, which was aimed at poor, dear old FatherBeret, would have pierced my heart, but for that charm-stone. Asfor my locket, it did not, as some have reported, save Fitzhugh'slife when the musket-ball was stopped. The ball was so spent thatthe blow was only hard enough to spoil temporary (sic) the face ofthe miniature, which was afterwards restored fairly well by anartist in Paris. When it did actually save Fitzhugh's life was outon the Illinois plain. The savage, Long-Hair, peace to his memory,worked the miracle of restoring to me--" Here a fold in the paperhas destroyed a line of the writing.

The letter is a sacred family paper, and there is notjustification for going farther into its faded and, in some parts,almost obliterated writing. But so much may pass into these pagesas a pleasant authentication of what otherwise might be altogethertoo sweet a double nut for the critic's teeth to crack.

While Adrienne and Alice were still discussing the probability ofRene de Ronville's return, M. Roussillon came to the door. He wasin search of Madame, his wife, whom he had not yet seen.

He gathered the two girls in his mighty arms, tousling them withrough tenderness. Alice returned his affectionate embrace and toldhim where to find Madame Roussillon, who was with Dame Godere,probably at her house.

"Nobody killed," he said, in answer to Alice's inquiry about thecatastrophe at the fort. "Some of 'em hurt and burnt a little.Great big scare about nearly nothing. Ziff! my children, youshould have seen me quiet things. I put out my hands, this way--omme ca--pouf! It was all over. The people went home."

His gestures indicated that he had borne back an army with openhands. Then he chucked Adrienne under the chin with his finger andadded in his softest voice:

"I saw somebody's lover the other day, over yonder in the Indianvillage. He spoke to me about somebody--eh, ma petite, quevoulez-vous dire?"

"Oh, Papa Roussillon! we were just talking about Rene!" criedAlice. "Have you seen him?"

"I saw you, you little minx, jumping into a man's arms right underthe eyes of a whole garrison! Bah! I could not believe it was mylittle Alice!"

He let go a grand guffaw, which seemed to shake the cabin's walls.Alice blushed cherry red. Adrienne, too bashful to inquire aboutRene, was trembling with anxiety. The truth was not in GaspardRoussillon, just then; or if it was it stayed in him, for he hadnot seen Rene de Ronville. It was his generous desire to pleaseand to appear opulent of knowledge and sympathy that made himspeak. He knew what would please Adrienne, so why not give her atleast a delicious foretaste? Surely, when a thing was so cheap,one need not be so parsimonious as to withhold a mereanticipation. He was off before the girls could press him intodetails, for indeed he had none.

"There now, what did I tell you?" cried Alice, when the big manwas gone. "I told you Rene would come. They always come back!"

Father Beret came in a little later. As soon as he saw Alice hefrowned and began to shake his head; but she only laughed, andimitating his hypocritical scowl, yet fringing it with a twinkleof merry lines and dimples, pointed a taper finger at him andexclaimed:

The priest laid a broad hand over her saucy mouth. "Something orother seems to have excited you mightily, ma fille, you are atrifle impulsively inclined to-day."

"Yes, Father Beret; yes I know, and I am ashamed. My heart shrinkswhen I think of what I did; but I was so glad, such a grand joycame all over me when I saw him, so strong and brave andbeautiful, coming toward me, smiling that warm, glad smile andholding out his arms--ah, when I saw all that--when I knew forsure that he was not dead--I, why, Father--I just had to, Icouldn't help it!"

Father Beret laughed in spite of himself, but quickly managed toresume his severe countenance.

"Ta! ta!" he exclaimed, "it was a bold thing for a little girl todo."

"So it was, so it was. But it was also a bold thing for him to do--to come back after he was dead and scalped and look so handsomeand grand! I'm ashamed and sorry, Father; but--but, I'm afraid Imight do it again if--well, I don't care if I did--so there, now!"

"But what in the world are you talking about?" interposedAdrienne. Evidently they were discussing a most interesting matterof which she knew nothing, and that did not suit her femininecuriosity. "Tell me." She pulled Father Beret's sleeve. "Tell me,I say!"

It is probable that Father Beret would have pretended to betrayAlice's source of mingled delight and embarrassment, had not therest of the Bourcier household returned in time to break up theconversation. A little later Alice gave Adrienne a vividlydramatic account of the whole scene.

"Ah, mon Dieu!" exclaimed the petite brunette, after she had heardthe exciting story. "That was just like you, Alice. You always dosuperb things. You were born to do them. You shoot CaptainFarnsworth, you wound Lieutenant Barlow, you climb onto the fortand set up your flag--you take it down again and run away with it--you get shot and you do not die--you kiss your lover right beforea whole garrison! Bon Dieu! if I could but do all those things!"She clasped her tiny hands before her and added ratherdejectedly: "But I couldn't, I couldn't. I couldn't kiss a man inthat way!"

Late in the evening news came to Roussillon place, where GaspardRoussillon was once more happy in the midst of his little family,that the Indian Long-Hair had just been brought to the fort, andwould be shot on the following day. A scouting party captured himas he approached the town, bearing at his belt the fresh scalp ofa white man. He would have been killed forthwith, but Clark, whowished to avoid a repetition of the savage vengeance meted out tothe Indians on the previous day, had given strict orders that allprisoners should be brought into the fort, where they were to havea fair trial by court martial.

Both Helm and Beverley were at Roussillon place, the formersipping wine and chatting with Gaspard, the latter, of course,hovering around Alice, after the manner of a hungry bee around aparticularly sweet and deliciously refractory flower. It wasraining slowly, the fine drops coming straight down through thecold, still February air; but the two young people found itpleasant enough for them on the veranda, where they walked backand forth, making fair exchange of the exciting experiences whichhad befallen them during their long separation. Between the linesof these mutual recitals sweet, fresh echoes of the old, old storywent from heart to heart, an amoebaean love-bout like that ofspring birds calling tenderly back and forth in the bloomingMaytime woods.

Both Captain Helm and M. Roussillon were delighted to hear ofLong-Hair's capture and certain fate, but neither of them regardedthe news as of sufficient importance to need much comment. Theydid not think of telling Beverley and Alice. Jean, however, lyingawake in his little bed, overheard the conversation, which herepeated to Alice next morning with great circumstantiality.

Having the quick insight bred of frontier experience, Aliceinstantly caught the terrible significance of the dilemma in whichshe and Beverley would be placed by Long-Hair's situation.Moreover, something in her heart arose with irresistible power